


So You Think You Can Drarry

by icanhelpyouthere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Ballet Dancer!Draco, Dance partners, Dance school AU, Forced Proximity, M/M, Street Dancer!Harry, dance competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icanhelpyouthere/pseuds/icanhelpyouthere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry both make it into a prestigious dance company workshop where they are assigned partners to choreograph and perform a dance with. Having planned on winning this competition with his years of extensive dance training, Draco is dismayed to find himself paired with a loud, untrained street dancer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So You Think You Can Drarry

**Author's Note:**

> This quick drabble was inspired by an ask I received on Tumblr with this prompt.

Draco sits in the auditorium waiting for the assignments to be called. He is so excited for this program. He’d applied and been accepted to this famous two-week summer intensive program, where the dance students participate in workshops and classes and work with professionals. They are to be assigned a partner to choreograph a dance with, which they’ll have to perform at in the final show (which, incidentally, is also a competition) at the end of the program.

A loud burst of laughter distracts him from his thoughts, and he turns to glare across the group of fifty students, his gaze fixing on a boy who’s head is thrown back in laughter as he shoves one of his friends over. Draco’s eyes narrow in irritation at this boy’s unprofessionalism. He has on a grey beanie that’s far too big for him and is pushed back to reveal tousled dark curls. Thick black glasses sit on his nose and there’s a shadow of scruff along his jaw. A baggy maroon sweatshirt has sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and tight ripped denims with outrageous trainers complete the outfit. Really, Draco huffs internally. So sloppy.

The director of the program walks on stage and Draco gives her his total attention, fiddling with his sleeve cuffs as he waits for his name to be called. The moment comes a lot faster than he’d expected.

“Malfoy, Draco and Potter, Harry.”

Draco stands up, and to his utter dismay, so does the rowdy boy in the sweatshirt. Fucking hell, really? It’s not that he’s a bloke- there’s plenty of same-sex pairings, dance doesn’t matter. It’s just- he- Harry? seems so irresponsible. Taking a deep breath, he follows his new partner over to the side of the room.

Walking up to him and squaring his shoulders, Draco sticks out his hand. “Draco Malfoy, I look forward to working with you.”

Harry is leaning against the wall and looks him up and down, cocking an eyebrow in apparent amusement and making Draco flush with embarrassment. Draco’s just about to withdraw his hand with Harry rolls off the wall and uncrosses his arms. He briefly grasps Draco’s hand with a smirk and nods. “I’m Harry. Let me guess. Ballet?”

Draco furrows his brow at Harry’s tone. “Yes, of course. Ballet is my main background, but I also have training in every other traditional form, including ballroom and jazz. My main focus right now is contemporary, though.”

Harry smirk widens. “Knew it.”

“Well, what about yourself?”

Shrugging, Harry falls back against the wall. “Basically just street dancing.”

Bloody fuck. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Grew up practicing with the other kids on the city block.”

“So you have no real training?”

Harry scowls. “Not like your poncy lessons, I’m sure. Taught myself. And before you say anything else, do try to remember that I also earned my spot in this program.”

A slight tendril of guilt makes itself known, but Draco is still pissed he has to work with this untrained prat. “Yeah, whatever. Be ready when we meet tomorrow. Eight in the morning, sharp,” he spits out. “I’m here to win this competition, I need it on my resume, so don’t fuck it up for me.” He whirls around, stalking to his room before Harry can respond.

–

Feeling much more hopeful the next morning, Draco arrives at their private practice room an hour early with a cup of tea from the canteen. He sets his music to play Erik Satie, his favorite, and begins to stretch, waking up his body.

He’s so caught up in the music and thinking about choreography, he doesn’t hear Harry come in. Breathing deep, he’s sitting on the floor with legs stretched out in opposite directions, toes pointed, and has his spine curled so his head and arms are on the hardwood.

“Christ, you’re flexible.”

Draco shoots up, drawing his knees together in surprise. “Er-” He takes in Harry’s joggers, t-shirt with the phrase “Fuck it” across it, and the same trainers from yesterday. “You’re early.”

“Didn’t want to risk your wrath if I was late. Figured you’re an early riser.”

A pleased smirk quirks at the corner of Draco’s lips. “You figured correctly.” He gestures to the floor. “Going to warm up?”

“Sure.” Harry settles down on the floor and Draco resumes his stretches. After a minute, he hears an amused, “Are you wearing tights?”

Sighing heavily (he’s used to this kind of comment), Draco glances over at him and discovers Harry’s simply sitting there watching him curiously. God this kid is weird.

“Yes, I am. And nylon shorts, and a sleeveless shirt, and half-soles. Quite observant, you are.”

“What are we listening to?”

Draco gives up halfway through his next stretch. Bloody hell he has too many questions, it’s really rather rude. “Erik Satie. French composer and pianist.”

Harry tilts his head. “You’re so strange.”

Huffing, Draco rolls his eyes. “I could say the same to you.”

“Hmm. So do you have any thoughts of what we’re going to do for this dance?”

Draco hesitantly explains his ideas for a contemporary mix, how they can work with the fact that they both favor modern types of dance. By the time he’s finished, Harry’s grinning.

“Sounds brilliant, if we can pull it off.”

“Of course we can,” Draco huffs. “Or at least, I know I can. We’ll see about you, I suppose.”

Harry laughs easily and surges to his feet. “Come on, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

–

Rehearsing and collaborating doesn’t go quite as easily as Draco imagined. They spend a lot of time yelling and cursing at each other when they don’t agree, their passionate personalities clashing constantly. Not to mention the defensiveness and frustration when they struggle with teaching the other a particular move that is specific to their style.

Despite the constant animosity, there are a few moments…moments where bodies touch when they move together, moments where they’re panting heavily, so close to each other. Draco is unsure what to make of these moments, until one day during an argument, Harry slams Draco against the barre and kisses him. Since then, now with an outlet, their chemistry flows smoothly and it shows in the way they dance.

They’ve both heard rumors about themselves around the workshops, but they couldn’t care less. When they finish their performance -which is full of obvious sexual undertones- to a standing ovation, flushed and smiling, neither of them is surprised that they win.

Draco is surprised to discover that he doesn’t give a damn about the prize and the title. As he kisses Harry backstage, he realizes he had already felt like he’d won.


End file.
